


Something Good

by atlaswho



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Friendship/Love, Kids, M/M, North Yankton, trailer park au, trisha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlaswho/pseuds/atlaswho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>North Yankton, 1981. Trevor is as dangerous as the ocean, and Michael is caught in the ever changing tide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TechnicolourGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicolourGrey/gifts).



Michael stared blankly out of the trailer window, absently watching the snow as it fell and settled on the already blanketed roads and fields. He shivered as a draft whistled through the cracks in the front door, and nestled further into his sweater. He would have turned on the stove for heat but his mom said they couldn’t afford to do that anymore, and he’d rather not run the risk of not being able to eat. It was bad enough being cold without being hungry, too. Michael’s interest shifted from the window and he glanced around, hoping to find something to do. He hated being cooped up for too long; he got fidgety, and just about anything would be better than sitting around doing nothing.

A sharp tap on the window caught Michael’s attention, and he quickly turned back. His best friend, Trevor, stared up at him, looking grumpy as ever. Michael gestured behind him, in the general direction of the door, and Trevor nodded, turning to let himself in. As the door opened, the wind howled and the heat that had been building up in the trailer all afternoon was suddenly gone. Trevor dropped something about the size of a soccer ball on the floor as he closed the door and kicked his shoes off.

“What you got there?” Michael asked, turning to face his friend.

“It’s a heater you moron,” Trevor replied rolling his eyes as he bent down to plug it in. He aimed it at the table where Michael was sat. 

Michael felt the warmth immediately, and leant towards it, moaning happily as he began to warm up.

“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ welcome,” Trevor added, grinning as he sat opposite Michael, angled towards the heater.

Little things like immediate warmth in the winter were luxuries that kids in these parts often didn’t have. It was unlikely Trevor just had one lying around but Michael didn’t care to ask, nor did he really need to. Both boys were quiet, basking in the warmth of the heater, which made an annoying buzzing sound that rang in their ears. Michael glanced away from his warming hands and up at his friend.

Trevor was a skinny, lanky boy, always somewhat bedraggled, and was constantly sniffing as though he had a cold. He was the weirdest boy Michael knew, but behind the weirdness and the larger than life theatrics, Trevor was loyal and intelligent. When he wanted to be. Trevor kept Michael on his feet, kept him busy when things were slow; got them both into trouble, but Michael loved it. He loved the thrill that Trevor brought with him everywhere. Michael’s trail of thought was cut short when Trevor leapt from his seat, his entire body practically vibrating as he beamed down at Michael.

“Why the fuck can’t you sit still?”

“I have an idea if you’re bored!” he explained.

“What is it?” Michael asked, exasperated.

“Let’s play hide and seek.” He nodded eagerly, and Michael’s protests died on his lips as Trevor continued; “Come on, don’t be like that, let’s do it! It’s too cold to go out and you’re _miserable_ when you’re bored!”

“Okay, well, who hides first?” he asked.

Trevor shrugged, and began fumbling around for a coin to flip, though he came up fruitless. Michael glanced around the kitchen, and his eyes fell on a piece of bread and butter he’d forgotten about. “Dude, I got it. I’ll throw the bread and if the buttered side hits the floor I get to hide first, deal?”

Trevor nodded, and Michael flipped the bread. Both of them watched it as it spun through the air and landed, rather unceremoniously, butter side up, to which Trevor accepted as some kind of victory on his part.

“Fuck yes!” Trevor shrieked. “Go count outside!” He took his off his own coat and threw it over Michael, pushing him towards the door.

Pulling the coat tighter against himself, Michael shoved his feet into his boots. “It’s fucking snowing out there you asshole,” he grumbled.

“You’re a renowned cheater, Townley. Why do you think you’re banned from the arcade?”

Michael flipped him off as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold. Much to his dismay, the snow was slushy underfoot, and the cold air snaked through every gap and crevice between Michael and his coat. Burying his face in his hands, his hot breath keeping him warm, he began to count to thirty. As he reached 27 his tolerance for the cold wore thin, and he hurried back inside for fear of his extremities freezing off. “Trev I am gonna kick your ass when I find you!” he called as he shed his coat and boots, now that the heater had significantly warmed up the small trailer.

Trevor was good at hiding, Michael knew this. Trevor had the physical advantage of being skinny and flexible, and he had experience. He could squeeze himself behind the fold away ironing board in his own trailer when his mom was out working the streets and his dad was home drunk. Michael also knew that Trevor could turn almost any space into a hiding spot, having been caught on multiple occasions. Trial and error forced him to be creative. Michael searched under the sink, pulled out the back of the broken booth and looked inside the chair, on top of the shelves, and in the shower, but Trevor remained hidden. He didn’t think Trevor would have bothered to hide in his room, so he checked his parent’s room, but before he’d even put two feet through the door, he saw Trevor crawling out from under his parent’s bed.

“Dude, what the hell? I’ve seen you hide behind toilets longer than this.”

Trevor ignored him. “Mikey! Check this out, holy shit.”  He gestured for Michael to come to his level. Michael sighed and got to his knees, inspecting what Trevor was so interested in. He pulled out a box and sat up, positioning the box between them. Inside there were various worn out porn magazines and assorted bottles of whiskey and other spirits, all of which undoubtedly belonged to his father. Michael recoiled immediately from the box, and looked at Trevor in alarm.

“Trevor, what the fuck?! Put that back, I don’t wanna see that!” he hissed, glancing behind him just in case his dad had come home.

“For fuck’s sake, Michael, don’t be so sensitive. Leave the porn; let’s have some of this stuff!” Trevor took a half empty bottle of whiskey from the box and shoved the rest back under the bed. “Come on, he won’t even know it’s gone. I take stuff from my parents all the time, its fine. They won’t even realise.”

Michael knew that wasn’t true, that Trevor was caught almost every time, but didn’t dare argue. Things tended to turn sour if they talked about their parents too much.

They took the heater, along with a couple of Moonpies and a tin of Cheeseballs, into Michael’s room.  Michael took his first drink, trying his best to hide his discomfort as the alcohol burnt his throat.

“You’re such a fucking pussy,” Trevor snorted at Michael’s grimace, snatching the bottle, and taking a swig as Michael collected himself.

“Fuck you, this is an old man’s drink anyway,” Michael retorted indignantly, taking a large bite out of a Moonpie to wash down the flavour of the whiskey.

They carried on drinking until they’d finished their snacks and were both suitably drunk, leaving a fair amount of the whiskey left in the bottle. The alcohol numbed them both to the cold air, and their drunken conversations drowned out the sounds of the storm outside. Trevor did his impression of an aeroplane, and told Michael all about his dreams to become a fighter pilot and live in the skies, away from the wretched earth. Michael watched his friend, lost in his passionate description of a toy plane he’d assembled the other day, and giggled against his will.

For now, this was theirs. This room. This space. The storm seemed as distant as the pot of gold Michael's father always said he'd find at the end of the rainbow; it may as well have been raging on the moon, a distance which he had never been able to fathom no matter how much he thought about it, wrinkled his nose about it, no matter how many radio towers he was told could fit between here and there. Lying side by side on Michael’s small, dingy bed, they talked for what felt like forever, lost in their own world. They were safe here, everything else forgotten and unimportant. Michael found Trevor’s company exhilarating; he was wild, unpredictable and unsteady, but he was fiercely loyal. He was an easy escape. Michael knew he did the same for Trevor; he was someone Trevor could trust and depend on and could distract him from what waited for him at home. It was moments like these that Michael treasured; they were free, even just for a moment, from everything.

They were thrust back to reality, however, when the front door slammed. The boys held their breaths, glancing at one another, as heavy footsteps made their way to the adjourning bedroom. Michael’s father made little other noise, aside from the occasional grunt as he staggered through the kitchen. His mother wasn’t far behind, ushering him into bed. He was drunk, too, it seemed; he would have made his way promptly to Michael’s room, otherwise. They were safe. When the bedroom door finally closed, Trevor couldn’t hold back his infectious giggles, and Michael laughed too, the relief of not being caught washing over him.

“Fuck me that was close,” Michael whispered, his laughter settling. Trevor hummed, nodding slowly. They remained silent for a second, the faint buzz of the heater in the corner of the room, and their gentle breathing the only sounds that filled the room. Michael’s eyelids were heavy, and he was vaguely aware that he needed to piss, but lacked the energy to get up.

“Did you eat all the Moonpies?” Trevor inspected the empty box. “Gotta get in quick round these parts, eh? You fatass.” He sniggered, discarding the box onto the floor, and jabbing Michael’s stomach.

Michael flipped him off weakly, before letting his arm flop back down at his side. “Didn’t realise you had such a sweet tooth,” he remarked.

“What can I say, I like to indulge,” Trevor said, enunciating, emphasising the deliciousness of the word. “There’s this awesome milkshake they do down at Norm’s. I’d fuckin’ _kill_ for one of those right now.”

“Well let me take you there sometime.”

Trevor didn’t reply at first, and looked at Michael in disbelief.

Michael glanced at Trevor and smiled lazily, “Maybe tomorrow? Dad said the snow would clear up by tomorrow afternoon.”

Trevor was silent for a moment, fiddling with the bottom of his ragged, dirty shirt. He cleared his throat. “What, you taking me on a date?” His usual snarky tone had less of an edge, and his eyes remained fixed on his shirt, which he promptly released from his fingers.

Michael chuckled under his breath, letting his eyelids shut slowly as he turned back to the damp ceiling.

“Sure. It’s a date.”

Michael didn’t hear Trevor’s response as he drifted into a comfortable sleep. He didn’t see Trevor’s wide grin, or his fidgety hands gripping at his shirt again. He didn’t feel Trevor shifting just an inch closer to him either, or the gentle brush of Trevor’s arm against his.

That night he dreamt of a darkness that was chased away by the light. He dreamt of clear skies, of freedom and weightlessness, of summer days, and the warmth of the sun prickling against his skin, soft grass between his toes. He didn’t dream of the big bad monster, or of ice cold water up to his ears, his arms and legs heavy as lead, unable to keep him afloat. He slept peacefully, undisturbed, that night, for the first time in a long time.

Michael woke to harsh morning sunlight and the muttered curses in the kitchen. Barely a moment passed, and the dull throbbing in his head began, pulsing at the front of his skull, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He cursed under his breath, gulping down the sickly taste in his mouth. He buried his face in the pillow. He still needed to urinate, but grimaced at the thought of standing up, unsure if his limbs even worked at all.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Trevor shifted beside him, and Michael peeked up at his friend. He watched the sunlight move slowly over Trevor’s relaxed features. The permanent knot in his eyebrows was smoothed out, and his perpetual frown had ceased.

It was strange seeing Trevor so peaceful, almost unsettling; he was a whirlwind of a boy, always on the move, always on edge. He looked so much younger in his sleep, looked his own age, like a kid again. Michael watched Trevor’s chest rise and fall gently as he breathed, and felt a strange urge to reach out and feel his pulse.

The peace didn’t last long, however, as Trevor stirred, his eyes blinking open, his face contorting in response to the sun in his eyes. He groaned loudly, rubbing his face, and sat up agitatedly. Michael took advantage of this, grabbing the rest of the pillow and using it to shield his face from the sun.

“I feel like a fermented turd, bro,” Trevor said groggily.  

“Yeah, you smell like one too. Take a fucking shower.”

“Fuck you, fatass.”

Michael ignored the remark, slowly pulled himself upright, and staggered towards the bathroom. His mother greeted him in an almost sickly sweet manner. Her high pitched voice rang in his ears. Michael grunted in response, shutting the bathroom door behind him and took what felt like the most satisfying piss in the world, though he nearly fell over in the process.

When Michael returned he saw Trevor zipping his coat up at the front door, and one of Michael’s scarves wrapped tightly around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” Michael smirked, gesturing to the scarf. Trevor beamed at him.

“Such a gentleman you are!”

“See you around then, man,” Michael said, rubbing his temples, leaning against the wall. Trevor grumbled what sounded like a response into the scarf, and stepped into the cold. The snow reflected the sunlight directly into their faces, to which they simultaneously groaned loudly, cringing away from the light.

“Oh, uh... Michael.” Trevor turned suddenly, looking up the steps at Michael, and looked somewhat apprehensive. “Are we still on for tonight?” he continued, scuffing his boots and staring firmly at the ground, squinting through the harsh sunlight.

Michael stared at Trevor for a moment, when suddenly he recalled his promise to take Trevor out tonight. Michael noticed, in that moment, how careful Trevor was being; gently breaching the topic, only brushing over it. He seemed nervous, and Michael found it was disconcerting to see him so unsure of something. He’d seen Trevor take a dump in the school yard in broad fucking daylight with more confidence.  It was in Trevor’s nature, or as Michael knew him, to be over the top, larger than life, and not give a fuck about what anyone thought of him.

Trevor squirmed in the silence, and gently repeated himself. “Mikey?” he asked, catching Michael’s eye.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, man,” Michael replied suddenly, “Sure, we’re still on for tonight. I’ll see you at six?”

“I’ll be there, buddy,” Trevor grinned up at Michael as he began to walk away. “Don’t be late, or the next time I ever wait for you I’ll be under your bed!” he called, making his way across the snowy paths, kicking soft snow into the air as he went.

Michael promptly closed the door, with every intention of turning and heading straight back to his room where there were clean clothes and a warm bed, but he hesitated. He stared dumbly at his hand, still firmly gripping the door handle, and pondered for a moment; why it didn’t feel strange that Michael had agreed to take Trevor on a _date_.  Flexing his fingers gently, he released the handle, but remained still, waiting for some sort of epiphany to strike him at any moment. Nothing came. Trevor was as unpredictable as the sea and just as perilous, and Michael had found himself caught up in the tide, unable to withstand the forceful current. He wondered where the tide would carry him, what adventure he would find himself on next. Michael was in a new ocean, in unfamiliar waters, but he knew that Trevor wouldn’t let him drown. Trevor would keep him afloat.  

Michael’s father was right. The storm had cleared up completely by the afternoon, blanketing the paths and gardens in a fluffy layer of snow. Several of Michael’s neighbours had shovelled the slush to the sides of the road, building banks of black and brown muddy sludge that some of the kids used as ammunition in their snowball fights. Michael had managed to scavenge together some money for that night, even shovelling the path for Mrs Davidson next door for a couple of dollars. Payday wasn’t for another two weeks, so Michael couldn’t pinch anything from his father’s wallet. 

The evening air was still and crisp, the sky a dull orange as the winter sun set early. The cold air got right into Michael’s nose, and he scrunched his face up in an attempt to relieve his sinuses. The snow was less wet, and Michael was glad for it; he could wear his favourite sneakers, which would have suffered in the wet slush otherwise.

Norm’s Diner was a hidden treasure in these parts of town. It was much further downtown than a lot of kids could be bothered to walk, and those that could afford to get the bus usually travelled to nicer parts of town. Trevor often brought Michael this side of town when they were hiding from cops or angry adults; they would climb up the bins and sit on the roof of the liquor store and wait for a couple of hours, before heading over to Norm’s for a burger and fries. They often speculated how many times they’d have to go there before they actually met the mysterious Norm with the best fries in North Yankton.

Michael rounded the corner towards Norm’s Diner, and saw Trevor standing outside the front door. Trevor looked up at Michael, and instantly puffed out his chest and curled his hands into fists, almost defensively. He wasn’t going to hit Michael, otherwise he wouldn’t have hesitated. Michael was about to ask what had Trevor so worked up, until he stopped, and he took a closer look.  Trevor was wearing a pale blue dress, carefully dotted with small pink roses, which came up to his thighs. He looked even skinnier than normal, the straps and breast of the dress swallowing his small frame, practically hanging off him. Michael blinked once, then twice.

“Hey Trev—”

“It’s Trisha,” he interrupted. His expression was fierce, frown deeper than normal, but Michael could see the blush in his usually sallow cheeks.

Trevor – no, Trisha – held his gaze, and Michael stared right back. He realised his mouth was hanging open, and abruptly closed it. It wasn’t unlike Trevor to dress somewhat outlandishly, but this was different. This was bigger than that. And then it hit Michael, what this was, and how terrified Trisha was. She was laying herself bare before Michael, trusting him and praying that he will accept her as Trisha, as well as Trevor.

He suddenly cleared his throat. “It’s Trisha tonight,” he repeated.

Michael had never seen him – _her_ – so terrified or so vulnerable. He felt unable to tear his eyes away from hers as they bore into his, searching for a response. Michael slowly held out a hand, to which she flinched away only slightly, and he felt a pang in his chest. He wondered briefly if her parents knew; if she was preparing herself for the worst. He held still, and waited.

“Come on then, babe,” he said, flashing a cheeky grin.

Trisha’s entire body relaxed with relief and Michael squeezed her hand gently as she placed hers in his, reassuring her. He led Trisha into the diner and they sat at one of the booths in the back; their usual spot. A waitress named Jennie made her way over, and presented them with two slightly sticky menus.

Michael glanced at Trisha for a moment, before turning the waitress. “Could we just get a large strawberry milkshake to share? And some fries?” he asked. Trisha nodded enthusiastically, satisfied with Michael’s choice.

“Sure thing!” she replied, in that sickly sweet customer service voice that made Michael’s skin crawl. “Anything for you, sir?” she continued, looking at Trisha, who instantly deflated. She looked like she was about to fly into one of her rages, as her shoulders shifted back and her fingers flexed.

“Miss, you mean,” he corrected sternly; “she’s a girl.” Trisha didn’t fully calm down, but stared at Michael with what could almost be perceived as delight in her eyes.

The waitress blinked a couple of times, seemingly caught off guard. “My sincerest apologies,” she muttered, looking embarrassed; “anything for you, miss?” When neither of them replied, she slowly closed her notebook.

“That’s all, thank you.” Michael interrupted the silence, dismissing the waitress. She nodded and turned quickly on her heel. Michael pretended not to notice her shaking her head as she ambled towards the kitchen.

Trisha’s jaw clenched for a brief moment, before she seemed to forcibly relax herself, taking a deep breath. Michael was impressed with her level of self restraint, he half expected her to flip the entire table and beat the waitress with it. It wasn’t entirely out of the question. Michael couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was feeling, the stress, the fear, the possible overbearing regret.

The food and milkshake arrived, and they tucked in happily, and the rest of the night went smoothly. Trisha was at her best when kept occupied, and nothing caught her interest more than talking about planes, or getting her ranting about something she disliked. Michael was happy to sit and listen, munching down on fries, watching her natter on. She was extremely animated, used her whole body in her descriptions, and used her physicality to its advantage. It was intriguing to watch, and Michael found it entertaining.

Trisha dipped her finger into the milkshake glass, wiping up some of the leftover cream, and popped it into her mouth. She hummed happily, savouring the flavour.

“I’m surprised,” Michael said, and Trisha raised an eyebrow, her finger still in her mouth. “I didn’t realise you were into such fruity drinks.” He smirked.

“I’m full of surprises,” Trisha replied, almost sensually. She flashed him a sultry look, and Michael stared at her for a moment. She laughed heartily at Michael’s bewildered expression, stealing the last fry and practically inhaling it, licking her salty fingers afterwards.

Michael had questions, but tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight Trevor had taken a huge risk in revealing Trisha to him, and Michael accepted Trevor however he, or she, was. As wild as Trevor was, Michael would always be there to be an anchor for him, to bring him back to earth if he spent too long in the sky. Michael was happy with the tide he’d been swept up into, and he knew he wouldn’t drown or lose his way. He was safe, as if in a raft, and the sea would protect him as it urged him along to new adventures, and new places. They balanced each other out, in almost perfect harmony. They had something good. They would be okay. Michael was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> my first fic for this fandom!! i hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> with a huge huge huge thank you to the gorgeous [Jesse](http://www.http://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicolourGrey/profile) for helping me through this!! Couldn't have done it without their support uwu


End file.
